Page 46 of Curse of Darkness
“And now I think I need to apologize to her.” Finn grimaces. “I hate it when I realize I’m being an asshole.”
“This is why I like you so much though. Because youcanactually realize it.”
He sighs and walks along the gallery, examining the statues. “That and my insanely good looks.”
“Alas, I’m quite partial to guys with dark hair.”
“Ouch.” He mimics taking an arrow to the chest. “From all angles.”
“Someone’s got to keep that sense of arrogance at bay.”
“I’m gorgeous and I know it,” he snorts. “What’s wrong with that?”
I can’t stop myself from bumping shoulders with him. I know what he’s doing, of course. Making me smile. Taking the tension out of the situation, so I’m not thinking about what lies ahead. It’s part of Finn’s charm.
“Granted. Though I think you’re getting some competition from the marble here.”
Finn pauses in front of a shirtless marble statue, and then imitates it’s flexing pose. “Who holds a spear like that?”
“You. You definitely hold a spear like that. Mostly when there are females visiting the training yards.”
“My ancestors would curse me to a thousand frozen eternities if I ever struck a pose like that.”
I take a step toward the next statue, and then I slam to a halt, my laughter trickling off.
Because it looks like Thiago.
Overlapping scales plate his armor, and his cloak is caught at his throat with what is presumably some sort of jewel. His wild hair blows back in a long-ago breeze, but it’s the look in his eyes that freezes me. It feels like he’s staring right through me, and not kindly.
Not Thiago. It takes a second for my eyes to note the differences, even if my rampaging heartbeat doesn’t quite catch that message as swiftly.
Malakhai of the Black Reaches. Malakhai of Malagaddon.
My husband’s father.
It’s like a punch to the throat. One second, I’ve almost summoned the strength to smile, and the next….
I see it all over again.
I hear him fall.
My fingers clench the way they did when I tried to capture his ashes.
“Scary-looking prick, isn’t he?” Finn muses.
The tightness in my chest is almost unbearable, and I can’t help leaning into him as he squeezes my shoulder in silent recognition.
“I’m not quite sure the artist quite captured his nature.” Finn leaps up on the rail, digging around in his pack for something. Two seconds later, he reaches up and draws a curl on the statue’s face.
“Finn!”
“Hush, now.” He traces his piece of charcoal carefully over the marble. “There’s no rushing good art.”
By the time he climbs down, Malakhai is sporting a rather ridiculous mustache.
It eases some of the tension in my chest. “Kato is going to kill you if he sees what you’ve done to his statuary.”
Finn winks at me. “I don’t know. He might think I’ve improved it. Why don’t we find out?”
